The Equation
by LethalIngenuity
Summary: With the disappearance of Canada and the death of Alfred F. Jones, Matthew Williams and America can't help but fall in love. But America can only lie for so long, and it's either he tells Matthew the truth or leave him before he finds out.


Pairings: AmericaXMatthewWilliams (YES IT IS A PAIRING IT'S DIFFERENT FROM USCAN (not really))

Warnings: OOC, America is not Alfred F. Jones and Matthew Williams is not Canada. Two separate entities.

Disclaimer: witty disclaimer here

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><p>Nothing wakes you up better than seeing the dead come back to life.<p>

It was a long and dreary day and America had just finished attending yet another one of those extremely useless and boring meetings (because their bosses don't actually give a _shit_ about what the nations think, or what they know, because the nations _are _just the representation of landmass and it's people, not the government) and was trying to calm himself down by buying a coffee at Starbucks.

_Trying._

The man at the front of the line looks young and has blonde wavy shoulder length hair and frameless glasses and reminds America of someone who he doesn't want to be reminded of. That maple leaf sewn on the back of his backpack doesn't really help either. The man apparently didn't have enough change, and was fumbling through his jacket and pockets because maybe a dollar will magically appear in his pocket. Then the young man says he doesn't have enough, and he can't buy whatever he ordered, but the cashier is a greedy bitch and says, "I can't cancel your order," and all the customers in line (America included) groan.

So America does what every American would do. He jeers at the man in front.

"You should have checked your money before hand, dumbass!"

The young man turns around, and to America's relief, it _isn't _Canada, because how could it, Canada disappeared a long time ago and hasn't been seen for twenty years, and plus Canada's hair is more orange-blonde and this guy has icky blonde hair. But the man still has the same flustered look that Canada would always have whenever he was embarrassed, and America can't help but feel so guilty. For everything.

He's about to apologize until someone grazes him in the shoulder as they walk by (purposely, probably) and go up to the counter with a five dollar bill.

"I'll pay for it," the stranger says in a soft and gentle voice, and the young man is thankful and much more. Then the stranger turns around to face America (to berate him for sure) and America's heart jumps and apparently so did the stranger's because they are now staring each other down with incredulous eyes.

Shoulder length wavy blonde-_orange_hair.

Calming indigo eyes.

Steel-rimmed glasses.

That _errant _curl.

No doubt, no doubt, no room left for doubt.

The stranger is the first to talk. "That was very impolite." He snaps, and he turns on his heel and practically sprints out of the coffee shop.

America stands there, gaping. He doesn't even move when the cashier calls for the next in line. He probably should have. He should have chased after Canada. Because Canada was supposed to be dead.

America goes to sleep and believes it to be a figment of his imagination.

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><p>At first, Matthew Williams thought it was a hallucination – an illusion.<p>

It wouldn't have been the first time. Sometimes, he would be standing there, watching him, smiling at him. But this time he _wasn't _translucent. He was real, he was solid, and just this once someone other than Arthur could see him.

See Alfred F. Jones.

That first time at Star bucks was probably a fluke. He was just probably a look alike. Hell, the guy that Matthew helped out looked similar to himself.

In fact, that incident had gone through to the back of Matthew's mind.

Until he saw the man again, at London, England.

Matthew was visiting his friend, Arthur Kirkland, who lived in London. Arthur Kirkland was a writer, and a lonely writer at that. Arthur wasn't an only child, but all his brothers were too busy to check up on him, so Matthew took the task of making sure Arthur wasn't completely lonely.

Because Matthew knows loneliness, they were acquainted and became best friends the moment Alfred died.

Matthew wouldn't actually be staying with Arthur. He hadn't even called the man to let him know he was coming – he wanted it to be a surprise. So just in case Arthur was too busy or not even home, Matthew rented a hotel room at the Hilton.

He stepped in the elevator with his luggage, but just as it was about to close someone charged at the door. The person made it in time but collided into Matthew.

Matthew has lost his glasses, and apparently the stranger has as well, because both of them are blindly groping at the ground. There's a crunch, and the stranger says, "Oh shit I hope that wasn't Texas."

"Texas?" Matthew asks, a bit timidly but boldly. "Is that what you call your glasses?"

"Nah. It's what they are." The voice is loud and tenacious, and oddly familiar.

"Right…" Matthew says sarcastically to the ludicrous statement.

Finally Matthew finds his glasses – under the stranger's feet, and pulls them on his face. They're snapped in half at the bridge, but Matthew can still see and he places it at his nose. It's a bit lopsided, but beggars can't be choosers and he's got some contacts in his bag. Then he looks at his assailant and it made him wish that his glasses actually did break.

There is a strong silence between them, and Matthew wants to touch the stranger to check if he's real, but he figures it's impolite. The stranger doesn't seem to think the same, and basically slaps Matthew on the cheek. By reflex, Matthew slaps him back (because he's spent enough time with Gilbert to make it a habit) and then the stranger grabs Matthew by the shoulders and quickly closes the gap between their lips. The way the 'stranger' kisses is the same way that Alfred does, that forceful and willing tongue gaining entry into Matthew's mouth. It's memorable, it's unique, and it's all Matthew has ever longed for. After what could have probably been an hour, they both stare at each other in astonishment.

Or disbelief.

"Uh…" The stranger takes a step back, and Matthew does as well. Matthew had already passed his stop and the elevator was already heading back down.

"Alfred…" Matthew says, as he raises a shaky hand to his mouth. "Is that you?"

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><p>America stares at this Canada look alike, because <em>shit<em>, the kid talks, looks, and even _acts _like Canada.

And they both obviously recognize each other, or else they wouldn't have kissed, and it wouldn't have been so _great_. Canada has a certain taste when they kiss, it's weird and maybe it's all in America's mind, but that's how he feels.

America honestly didn't want to go to this meeting but now... Now he was so glad he came.

He feels as if he's found his long lost brother/lover (family doesn't really matter to nations, they all basically came from the Mother Pangaea's vagina) because he sees it in his eyes, and the way they kiss is the way _they_ kiss.

But now, Canada is asking if America is Alfred, and who the _fuck _is Alfred?

There were a hundred more questions rushing through America's mind.  
>How come Canada recognizes me?<br>How come he doesn't call me America?  
>Was he reborn as a human?<br>Is he even 'Canada' anymore?

America was always the one to shoot first and ask questions later, so he just plays along.

"Yeah. It's me. Alfred" He says the words with such convictions that even he almost believes it.

Then this 'Canada' (Oh gosh, what if he has a human name? What's America going to do?) basically collapses into America's arms and cries, cries and cries saying, "I've missed you so much Alfred! You don't know how much I've missed you!". America has to resist the urge to say, "I miss you too, _Canada_" since that might blow his cover, and instead he just whispers back about how much he missed his dear little Canadian (hopefully the man was Canadian).

America just knows this is going to bite him in the ass later. But later is later, and he's always believed he's gotta live in the today rather than the tomorrow.

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><p>Yeah this idea came to me while I was thinking about two other stories, and it wouldn't let me go until I wrote it out.<br>**I don't think I'll finish this story either SO HAVE A HAPPY CLIFF HANGER.**  
><strong><br>**


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